Like a Dream
by Zalein
Summary: Daxter had been telling himself it was a nightmare. It was a nightmare, too, but it was the kind he couldn’t wake from.


**Title: **Like a Dream  
**Rating: **T

**Characters: **Jak and Daxter

**Genre: **Angst/Hurt/Comfort

**Summary: **He'd been telling himself it was a nightmare. It was a nightmare, too, but it was the kind he couldn't wake from.

**Author's Note: **Hell yes, I've _finally_ written a fic where they do the Shadow's first Forest mission. I've wanted to do something with it since the first time I played it and recognized its similarities to the first game, and now I finally have. Happy NaNoWriMo, everyone! Here's my tribute to it.

PS: I'll probably come back in a few weeks and edit this some more, but for now I've looked at it so much that I can't see anything wrong with it. If anyone sees any stupid spelling errors, drop a note please? I'll give you cookies if you do!

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At some level Daxter had known he was kidding himself during those two long years, when every night before sleep he would promise himself that soon he would find Jak, and then everything would get better fast. With Jak he'd be able to find Kiera and Samos, and together they'd find the Rift Rider, and with it they would all go back home to Sandover, where the sun-baked beaches and shimmering jungles always tumbled in on all sides. They would leave this nightmare of a city behind, and while they'd still visit this place in their dreams and their darker thoughts, it would be nothing but a memory.

He'd been kidding himself, but it hadn't been until later that he realized just how horrible the joke really was.

The escape from Praxis' prison had started out bad. Jak had been hurt and exhausted to begin with, and the sight of his best pal after all this time hadn't brightened him up as much as Daxter had hoped it would. True, Daxter knew he probably shouldn't have had high expectations, but he'd hoped for a grin, or maybe even a smile. All he'd gotten was a slight fading of the automatic hate and sullen expression that had settled itself like a pall over his friend's face, and then they'd been off, racing through the dark hallways and trying to avoid any guards that might have been in their way. Daxter avoided them because he was small and Jak was hurt, and because he didn't want more trouble than they were already in. Jak avoided them because he was hurt, but there was a perverse, twisted glint in his eyes each time a fight became clearly unavoidable. Daxter wondered, during those fights, if his furry hands were simply out of practice in holding on to Jak's shoulder, or if it was the warm slick blood and the weak feeling coursing through his veins at the sight of the brutal fights that made it so hard to keep clinging on.

Once they'd gotten outside Jak had been too full of adrenaline to stop moving. That was just as well, because it would have been plain stupid to stay anywhere near the prison after that big of an escape. Jak strode through the crowds with such purpose and aggression that people might have stopped and yelled at them had they not seen the obvious blood on his clothes and the murderous look on his face. All the time since the two ahd started walking Daxter was talking, filling the silence with everything he could think of. Jak needed this, he was sure. After two years of being in prison, with things happening to him that were able to change him into whatever he was now, Daxter knew that he needed a friend again more than ever.

Daxter was finding himself wanting a friend, too, but small, viciously nibbling doubts were starting to point out that Jak didn't really look much like the person he had been before. Daxter immediately told a bawdy joke he had learned early on in the city when those doubts half-formed into words, crushing the thought before it finished with an explosion of laughter that was a bit too loud for the joke he'd said. Jak had jerked in surprise, and his semi-permanent glare had deepened the slightest (Daxter told himself it was in concern), but had said nothing. Jak hadn't said much during their escape anyway, but before prison he'd never said a word at all so Daxter already knew how to work with that, and they had continued walking.

They found the Underground by a fluke. When they'd finally arrived to meet the contact they'd been sent to Daxter tried not to think about how they must have looked. Jak was an angry teenager with a posture that practically screamed aggression, and Daxter was a scrappy little ottsel on his shoulder. Not a very promising pair. The Underground must have been really desperate, though, because they took the pair anyway and promptly off on a mission.

Daxter yelled and complained when Jak hijacked his first zoomer, but Jak was ignoring him as easily as he ignored the pained yell the zoomer's previous owner had fallen with. Soon Daxter's pointed remarks grew a little quieter, and then stopped coming altogether. After all, maybe the old rules didn't really apply here anymore—this city was a nightmare anyway, and a few things they'd forget afterwards weren't going to make such a big difference, were they? The hijacking didn't stop, and while the merciless rage Jak had fought with while escaping prison had diminished slightly, it hadn't lessened much.

Time went on. Missions kept coming from the Underground, and soon the self-named 'demolition-duo' were introduced to the city's crime scene. At the beginning of their first mission as Krew-lackeys Daxter gave up all attempts of trying to tell himself that they were just heroes in a tough situation, and he started wondering just what they really were now. After all, heroes stood up for what they were, and they never gave up. Jak had always been the hero of the two, as much as Daxter liked to claim otherwise, and he'd been the sidekick. Jak had never given up during Gol and Maia's impossible citadel, and even when faced with that crazy-ass robot he'd kept on fighting. All Daxter had done then was to cling to Jak's shoulder for dear life, yelling and screaming warnings into his buddy's ears for things coming up behind them.

A week passed, and then another did. Daxter had mastered the ability to talk for what must have been hours straight without really saying much at all. The talking seemed to help, though, because while he wasn't sure if it was just him, but he thought Jak didn't look quite so constantly angry. Sure, it wasn't much, but it was better than it was before, and damned if Daxter wasn't going to appreciate that. In Haven city the little things were all one had.

More missions came and went. They'd gotten a gun from Krew as a prize for their first mission, and Jak had learned to use it with unsettling ease. Daxter decided early on that he liked not being close enough to their victims to hear every blow sink in and every gasp of pain, but that he didn't much like how quickly guns spilled blood and pieces everywhere. There was just no way to win, even when Jak's aim improved and fewer messes were made; the blood was always still there.

An errand came that sent them to Haven City's Stadium, where a girl-mechanic they never really got a good look at sent them off to a large room in the back to test one of her prototype inventions. It was so like something that Kiera would have done, back in the old days, that Daxter's ceaseless monologue was quiet for the entire trip from garage to back-room. When they got there he noticed Jak wearing an expression that wasn't sullen or angry, and Daxter pounced on the opportunity: he grinned wide enough to split his head in half and cheered over their new toy, demanding immediately that Jak try it out. To his shock Jak actually grinned back, moving to comply. The fact that the two were hovering a foot or so off the ground had very little to do with floating feeling Daxter felt afterwards; maybe this hellhole of a city wasn't so bad, maybe things just might, _just might _actually work out for them.

The mission eventually came to an end, and the floating feeling left with it. When they left they went to the smog-stained, shadow-ridden slums of the city for more instructions from the Underground. Life fell back into the dark routine it had become, with missions for rebellion groups or crime lords being the main focus, and a very constant schedule for vengeance against the Baron lurking just under the surface like a red and black shark. Soon they actually found a way into the Palace, and for a little while Jak was in such a haze of rage and just-barely-focused purpose that Daxter wondered if anything had really progressed during the past couple of months that his friend had been free. The fight at the tower's top hadn't lasted long, and the city had been such an anthill of swarming activity afterwards that the two Sandoverans had had to go into hiding at the risk of getting overwhelmed by guards. Jak had paced like a cadged animal in their small, lightless hiding place, first from fury for having let the Baron escape, and then because he just couldn't seem to keep still.

It seemed like hours before his friend had calmed down enough for Daxter to dare start talking again. Jak's pacing never slowed, and he would occasionally fling the closest thing on hand at a wall, but Daxter, who had jumped off as soon as it was safe to, could see the tension in the ex-hero's shoulders drain away as he got his inane chatter underway. When exhaustion began to settle over him instead, Daxter avoided looking in his direction but kept talking.

This city was killing Jak. It had filled him to the gills with anger, and when that was gone there was nothing left to keep him together. When Jak had collapsed heavily against a wall to brood himself to sleep, Daxter had quieted. The ottsel had walked over to his friend and climbed back onto his shoulder, reassuring him with his presence, remembering the good old days when they'd find shelter and fall asleep like they were sitting now. There had been times back then where Jak had come irritatingly close to squashing him, when his head had slumped the wrong way and come down on Daxter like to use him as a pillow. Daxter had always either shoved him roughly off or wriggled his way out and found the other shoulder, taking great pains to complain about it in the morning.

Morning came and when the furor from the Palace incident had calmed down, they'd gone back to their missions and hijacking and Krimzon Guard pummeling. They got another mission that led them off to Dead Town, and neither were too disappointed. Sure, the buildings were likely to come down on them any minute (and occasionally did), but Daxter had always quietly hated having to kill other people; after all, the ones that had been in charge of imprisoning to Jak were mostly dead, and the ones that were still alive weren't within reach, so why keep killing like they were? Daxter wondered, during their first ventures through the ruins, if his friend noticed any difference in what it was he was beating to pulp. After a while Daxter became more sure that he did, and on this mission Daxter was silently glad to see Jak looking actually relaxed from time to time. He could feel a difference between killing people and killing animal, even if they both attacked mercilessly. Daxter knew that killing in general was a necessary part of their lives, now, but this small improvement in his friend's moral character was a relief.

Any thoughts of metal-heads and Krimzon Guards were driven from their minds near the end of their mission. Findng Samos' house was probably one of the darkest moments of their lives, and Daxter found himself talking and not making any sense. This wasn't supposed to happen, this place couldn't have anything to do with their home. How could something so like home and at the same time so not like it be sitting right here, rotting in the middle of nowhere? If they searched, would they find their own homes here, or had they long since tumbled down into the rancid water below? Where were the beaches, why were the clouds too thick for the sun to shine through now, how was this their home when it so obviously couldn't be?

When they left the old ruins they walked in silence, and for once Daxter wasn't able to try to fill it. He noticed Jak would pause every now and then as though to listen, and then continue on walking the tiniest bit quieter than he had before. Daxter wrote it off as Jak listening for a distant scuffle between metal heads that might still be alive, and he kept quiet, too depressed to do anything else. Then, just before they reentered the city, Jak paused again. This time he turned to watch him sidelong.

"… Do you think Kiera and Samos made it?" His voice had never been used for much besides battle-cries and monosyllabic replies, so it was hoarse now, and seemed clumsy from lack of practice.

Daxter thought about it. It was likely they had made it through the rift—after all, Daxter had. Then again, Daxter had been with Jak. Assuming that they had survived the landing, though, would they have survived the two years separated from them?

"Maybe." Said Daxter. "I guess so. Yeah." He frowned a little at his short replies. They were no good, he sounded like Jak. "In fact," he grumbled on, "I bet old log-head is running around yappin' about green eco and destiny 'n stuff like always, and maybe even finding street-kids to scrub his floor for him."

Jak watched him while he talked. Meanwhile, Daxter was warming up to the image. "I bet his house's full of all that icky green moss-stuff that he doesn't want out anyway. For crying out loud, why's he want anyone to clean if his stupid plants were just dropping leaves and dirt all over the place anyway! It's his mess, he should just clean it up himself! Precursors, that was a pain where the sun don't shine…" In spite of his words, a small, nostalgic smile was creeping across his face. When Jak started walking, Daxter looked up on impulse. There was a small smile on Jak's face, too.

They stayed away from the Underground that night. They had received too many shocks that day, and neither of them were in any mood to deal with anything important, such as the Shadow. It was just as well, as when they finally did go back they were met with an all new surprise: Samos was there, and he didn't recognize them. Daxter and Jak exchanged glances, and the ottsel read his friend's expression for the first time since prison without wondering at its accuracy: maybe Samos hadn't made it out alright. Maybe he had hit his head, maybe this, maybe that…

After Samos dismissed them neither spoke much, though after a while Daxter started filling the silence. In spite of their meeting with the Shadow, things were going more or less smoothly. They took a mission or two from Krew, and they visited the Underground's HQ frequently. It seemed that their 'meeting' had had unexpected perks: they now had an unspoken status in the Rebellion, a strange promotion that neither had expected but probably should have. Conversations in hallways would pause as the two walked by, and for once the silences were more respectful than they were wary. Looks of hatred were more confused, now, and Daxter could tell they were having trouble consolidating rumors of the dark-eco freak with this brooding-guy-who's-_met_-the-_Shadow_.

Soon they got a special mission from the Shadow. It seemed simple enough; go into the forest and destroy the metal heads there. The purpose? To protect the source of the Shadow's power. They'd both been to the forest before, and they'd killed metal heads, too, but they'd never gone quite as deep as their instructions would send them now. Not that that would stop them; hell, it sped them on their way. The forest was like a taste of home, bittersweet but still savored. Exploring the precursor ruins was almost like the old days, but back then there hadn't been the faint smell of smog wafting over from the city, and Jak hadn't had nearly as many scars, or as much clothing to hide them. He'd also been barefoot then, and Daxter had been human and barefoot, too. Or at least, human most of the time.

Daxter practically cackled when the communicator's tinny rattle had told them they'd be getting that Jetboard again, and this time for keeps. His spirits rose a little more when Jak chuckled with him, looking genuinely appreciative of the perk. They'd gotten the Jetboard and immediately jumped on, and when the heavy city-exit doors had finally opened they'd hovered their way almost right off a cliff. (As soon as they were safe Daxter denied having screamed like a girl, and Jak had chuckled again.)

The forest was cool and huge around them, and the sun's cloud-blurred light was fading fast. They rode a weird Precursor platform that had carried them deeper in than they could have possibly gotten on foot. Daxter remarked that it'd be tricky to get back if the platform went away, and Jak nodded in agreement. When they got off onto solid ground, they made sure they would have room to maneuver before getting onto the Jetboard again. Daxter could see why the Shadow had sent them off to protect this place: almost the instant they were really inside he could tell the difference between this part of the forest and the places they had been to before. There was not even faint smog here, and it was so far from the city that he couldn't see the city's glow in gaps through the trees. The air was thick and humid, but for the first time since Sandover he knew it was with mold, not dust or zoomer-exhaust. Jak brought the zoomer around in a slow loop, and his shoulders rose in fell while he took a huge breath and slowly let it out. Daxter knew he was noticing the same things he was.

The first metal-head they found was the same color as it's surroundings, but Daxter and Jak had had so much practice long ago in spotting creatures like them that it was almost like they were romping through the jungle again, looking for patches of crackling blue eco. The fact that Jak couldn't use his gun without the recoil throwing him off his jetboard made it only more familiar; he was using branches like clubs, or diving in for sharp jabs.

They should have expected it, but it was still a surprise when they found old Precursor ruins that looked just like it used to. Kiera had been right—Precursor alloys were timeless. Chasing flying metal-heads through the trees and upcroppings was so much like chasing brightly colored lurkers through the gorge that the instant they were done Jak just stood where he was, staring blankly through the trees as though thinking it might somehow fall away and they would wake up and find it was all a dream.

Daxter didn't say anything while they stayed there, and the sounds of the forest around them washed over them. A thick breeze combed through tree branches and leaves high above them. The grass whispered as the blades stirred. Water from far away stirred and lapped at river-rocks. Leaves fell, crackling faintly with each small landing. Daxter felt a flying insect buzz past one arm as it narrowly missed flying into him, and he shifted his weight a little, taking a deep breath of his own.

After a few minutes Jak started to sit down, slowly, as though he felt suddenly very old and his joints were stiff. Daxter hopped off his shoulder and watched him sit in the grass. Jak looked back at him for a moment, before simply laying down where he was. After a moment Daxter walked a few paces and flopped down on the green beside him, almost surprised by how foreign the grass felt under his back..

It was so hard to believe that the nightmare they were in was as bad as it really was, now that they were out here. This place was like home, and even though he felt exhausted, and that he knew both of them had seen and done things that they could never go home with, he felt the first time since they'd arrived in Haven City two years ago, Daxter felt a tight knot inside him start to loosen, and bit by bit melt away. He was relaxing, and he could hear Jak shifting a little to get comfortable, doing the same.

There was no constant babble and chatter now. This time, finally, it was because right now it wasn't needed.

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End file.
